


Crawling Through Shadows

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [31]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, Cardassian Culture, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Legal Drama, M/M, Medical Procedures, Minor Character Death, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 00:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Julian and the rest of the DS9 crew still struggle with their heavy losses on Gaia, the emotional impact changing several relationships, not necessarily for the better. As life moves forward, a disruption in the aging station’s infrastructure necessitates that Garak join an away team for a salvage mission with tragic results. While he and O’Brien wrestle with questions of identity, prejudice, and purpose in the aftermath of the disturbing events, Julian is forced to navigate the treacherous waters of living closely with an alien with a violent, tangled past and uncertain future.





	Crawling Through Shadows

**Part I**

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

The weight of Julian’s head upon his thigh was growing uncomfortable, but he wasn’t ready to ask him to move because he’d found a perfectly serviceable position for his hand to rest across his forehead. Both of them held PADDs, Julian reclining on the sofa with his feet dangling over an arm, Garak seated with his feet propped on an ottoman dragged away from Julian’s overly soft chair. The position offered him the added benefit of occasionally catching a peek of his lover’s reading material when he shifted it just so, his essay on Cardassian courting customs.

Julian made a quiet sound that was difficult to read, something between a scoff and a grunt. It was his third such vocalization in less than twenty minutes.

“Problem?” Garak asked archly. He could have made many such sounds in his reading of _Titus Andronicus_, something that read like a student in his last year of schooling trying to be shocking, badly, but he preferred to reserve his critiques for their lunch discussions. It kept things civil.

Julian shifted to sit up, and Garak graciously relinquished him as his hand rest. “It’s all so...” He gestured emphatically once toward the PADD.

“Thorough?” Garak offered. “Organized? Logical?”

“Tedious.” The doctor pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “If there was a trace of romance, all of these requirements would squash it flat well before you even reached the second phase.” He tapped one of his bookmarks and read aloud, “It’s only appropriate to consider a formal statement of interest after three arguments that do not end within less than two hours.”

“You wouldn’t want to waste your time on someone incapable of holding their own, would you?” Garak asked. “Or if you were the one being approached, is impatience an attractive quality?”

Julian rolled his eyes. “How about this one? ‘Food is never an appropriate gift until you have ascertained income level.’ How do you find that out? It seems terribly forward, or even rude to ask someone, ‘By the way, how much do you earn?’ What does any of that have to do with food?”

He managed to suppress his sigh, only just. “You never ask. If you don’t know enough to hack into the most routine databases without getting your hands slapped, you’re definitely not marriage material. Or,” he held up a hand to forestall the protest he saw coming, “if you don’t have access to monitors, such as in rural areas or our more distant past, you can find out the old fashioned way, eavesdropping and delicate enquiry.”

He warmed to the topic quickly, in part because it meant he could set aside his worst reading of Shakespeare yet. “As for how that relates to food, I’d think that was obvious. If you make much more than your intended, then it looks as though you’re offering charity.”

“A dire insult,” Julian cut in dryly.

“Yes,” Garak agreed, his look stern and serious. “If, on the other hand, you make much less, then you are putting the other person in a terrible position. Refusing the gift is rude, and yet accepting the gift from one who may be struggling to feed themselves when you’re comfortable is the height of selfishness. People will talk. You may find certain favor avenues suddenly closed to you. If you’re destitute and your goal is to damage someone’s reputation, however, it’s a crude but effective tactic, as long as you lay the groundwork of interest beforehand and have a bolthole in which to hide for a time afterward.”

“Courting as class warfare?” He favored him with a look of disbelief.

“No, dear. It’s very personal. We don’t _do_ class warfare.” He despaired of his ever truly grasping the nature of his people and didn’t understand why it seemed so difficult. He was intelligent enough by far. It seemed almost deliberate naivete.

Setting the PADD aside, Julian rubbed at his face. “It’s all so complicated. I don’t see how any of you keep track of it.”

“How do you keep track of when to offer a handshake versus a hug? When it’s appropriate to ask someone on a social outing alone rather than in a group? What sorts of compliments are appropriate versus what might get you slapped?” He couldn't keep the crossness out of his voice. “You’re taught from an early age, and it’s reinforced by the society around you. We’re no different in that respect.”

“I just don’t see any room for...well, like I said, for romance or love in any of this.” He frowned.

“Why must we keep having this conversation? Love and romance have nothing to do with it. From the lowliest street cleaner to the highest echelons of government, my people seek to strengthen our houses and families by sensible marriage arrangements. To determine whether it’s sensible or not takes a great deal of time and patience.”

“Where do we fall on that scale?” Julian asked with a playful smile.

“We don’t. As I’ve said before, in the eyes of my people, you and I will never be anything more than a fling, a very selfish fling on my part, because if I refuse to take a Cardassian wife, then I am failing in one of the most fundamental tenets of service to the state, contributing to the future generation.” He wanted to meet him in that playful place. He found that he couldn’t. Ever since the doctor’s last return from the Gamma Quadrant, any attempt on Julian’s part to box him in on defining them filled him with anxiety. Why couldn’t he leave it alone?

“Then I’m lucky you’re selfish.” He shifted to straddle him, pinning his legs beneath spread thighs. “Because I’d be no good at sharing you with a wife. I’d storm the house, rip my shirt, make a frightful scene in the street...” His warm breath slanted across parting lips before they met in the sort of unhurried exploration of mouth to mouth that meant they’d be staying in for the night.

He knew what this was, even as he lifted his hands to dig into lean muscle across Julian’s back and encourage him to erase the final distance separating them. It had become a pattern, sacrificing discourse to intercourse every time he said something about them he knew the doctor didn’t want to hear. It was an unspoken question. _Can’t we forget all of that and make our own rules?_

His answer so far had been the same each time, a qualified, _Yes,_ that could only ever apply while they lived on territory that was neither Cardassian nor part of the Federation. He used to loathe his place on the station. Now he clung to it and allowed Julian to quell his doubts with clever hands and a relentless appetite for his pleasure.

A repeated flick of tongue tip against the fourth scale of his right neck ridge told him a secret. “You’ve been reading ahead,” he murmured, lifting a hand to tangle it loosely in the short hair at the back of Julian’s head, barely enough to grasp. He wasn’t sure he liked this new haircut. He felt his smile against his throat and hissed a swift inhale through his nostrils for the bite that followed.

“Can you blame me?” Lowering to nuzzle the hollow, he circled first the tip of his nose and then a drag of lips across his micro-scales. “As you say, most of that very thorough, very detailed essay will never apply to us. Is it so wrong of me to want to make use of what might?”

“It isn’t a makeout manual. Those moves—” He cut off abruptly on a low groan. Julian found the perfect pressure point, somehow through his clothing, to have him fully erect and close to emerging. He didn’t write about _that._

“Have specific meanings. I’m very aware.” Julian’s hand didn’t stop there, nor allow him to stay fully covered. He skillfully dealt with the fastenings of his trousers and peeled the fabric back so that he could draw down the microfiber underclothing. Riding down lower on his thighs, he exposed him to the light, made a point of making eye contact, and traced his index finger down the center of the bulging slit with just enough pressure to push past the protective scales.

He wouldn’t have tolerated it from another Cardassian, not the devastating combination of touch, exposure, and challenge. For all that Julian knew, which was more than most humans, Garak was certain he didn’t know the most closely guarded secrets of his species’ biology and psychology. He wasn’t initiating a power struggle or trying to humiliate him. “And this?” he asked, his voice thicker.

The doctor’s most dangerous smiles were also his most subtle, a mercurial tilt that warned of worse to come. “This?” Another flick ended in a drag of the back of his nail against satiny, wet inner skin at the top of his slit. “It has a specific meaning, too. I’ll be disappointed if you need me to spell it out for you.”

He chuffed a breathless laugh. Julian was in a mood. He settled in deeper against the cushions and focused on controlling his reactions. He never quite gave him enough stimulus to emerge autonomously, and he knew if he did it deliberately, he’d be left wanting altogether. Through the years, the man had learned how to turn the tables and play his own tricks on him. He seemed to enjoy the retaliation that inevitably followed.

Julian told him several things with his mouth, teeth, and tongue that needed no translation, invisible messages on scale, some from the essay, some from the mystery of his brilliant mind, all against a backdrop of mounting desperation at having nothing else exposed, only his sensitive neck ridges and vent.

“I’ve never seen your ridges darker.” Julian sat back a bit to admire his handiwork. He traced each large, scalloped scale with the edge of his nail. Garak enjoyed him from his vantage, as well, tawny skin flushed and damp, features swollen, the brown of his eyes almost gone to black altogether.

“We usually dim the lights.” It was a weak comeback, he knew. He felt no real desire to try to deny how aroused he was, nor to push or beg for more. He was perfectly content to luxuriate in the moment and let things play out as they would.

“There’s going to be a wet spot on the couch,” Julian continued, dipping his hand lower and drawing it up slicked. When he spread his fingers, the thick arousal fluid stretched to thin, gossamer threads. Making bold eye contact again, he licked a spot clean and dragged the rest of it across his lips and chin.

Garak’s eyes hooded, his lips peeling back from his teeth for an inhale through their abrupt clench. 

“Are you going to tell me what you want?” It was clearly a taunt to see if he’d break control and rise to the bait.

He shook his head, the motion taut and jerky. Outwardly, he gave the appearance of deep relaxation against the sofa seat. He knew that in his straddle, Julian would feel that for the lie it was, see it for a lie in every movement, which was an excellent reason to try to stay still.

He leaned down close enough for Garak to smell the sharp scent of his own musk clinging everywhere he’d touched with fingers and palm and whispered, “Then I’ll tell you what I want instead. I want you to come for me...inside your vent.”

It was a shocking suggestion, something very difficult to do and something that would deny him the full enjoyment of the orgasm. It would take him a week or more to come up with a proper punishment for this. It was delicious. “Am I to manage this all on my own?” he asked, allowing a sharp note to undercut the arousal.

Making a show of thinking about it, Julian straightened and idly sucked his ring finger clean. “I rather think you should. You’re always telling me how important it is to seek total control of one’s body and mind. A hands free demonstration ought to be enlightening.”

He tipped his head back and laughed. His true amusement was always harsh and unmelodic. He allowed himself one indulgence, to seize Julian’s clean hand and playfully bite the mounded flesh of his palm at the base of his thumb. He could speak without words, too. The bite said he’d pay for this demand, his eyes that he loved him beyond reason.

Julian’s sudden gasp was imminently satisfying, much more than the labored orgasm that soon followed, considerably less than the need driven ravishment the doctor unleashed on him after Garak obliged him. Patience was such an underrated virtue.

He slept like stone.

_Julian  
Quark’s Bar_

He toyed with the Black Hole on the table in front of him, running a finger down the glass to drip the condensation into a little puddle. Broik passed by and pointedly slipped a coaster under it without fully breaking stride. Dax smirked faintly. He could see her heart wasn’t in it. She let out a sigh and pushed her Yridian ale away from her. “You know this is pathetic,” she said. “I don’t get to spend time with you off the clock for over a month, and the best we can do is sit here and brood?”

He offered a wan smile, lifted his drink, and took a swallow. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not just you. I’m not in the best frame of mind for socializing, either. Something’s up with Nerys, and she won’t talk to me about it.” She abruptly seized her glass and downed the entire pint in a couple of swallows. “And I still feel...” Her mouth tightened. “Guilty,” she said more softly. “Really damned guilty about everything—” 

Julian reached to squeeze her hand and held it. “That was not your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” she snapped, jerking her hand away. “It _was,_ Julian. I could have done a more thorough analysis of the readings. I should have. I didn’t, because all I wanted was a big discovery under my belt. The Gamma Quadrant has been such a huge source of stress and frustration for everybody. I wanted to give us something good to take home, and I let that get in the way of one of the first things they teach at academy about safety.” She caught Broik’s eye and signaled for another drink.

“Can you point at a single one of us who hasn’t made some pretty costly mistakes in our career?” he asked.

A pained look crossed her features. “This one was mine. You’d think that after seven lifetimes, I’d have learned to be more patient.” She twitched her hand abruptly and looked off into the crowd. “I’m sorry. I thought getting out would make me feel better. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he said quickly. He had missed her and didn’t realize how much until he’d seen her waiting for him at the table. “We... we can talk about the upcoming wedding. It’ll be nice to have a reason to celebrate, won’t it?”

She shrugged one shoulder and watched Broik approach with her ale. “I guess.”

After another sip of his drink, he ventured, “You’re still having issues with Worf, I take it?”

She sighed and nodded. “He gets so ridiculous with his demands for commitment. I’m getting tired of feeling like I have something to prove. I’m a damned good catch exactly as I am. I don’t understand why what we already have isn’t enough.” Her jaw tightened.

He couldn’t help but to smile. “You are a good catch. Look at how long I chased you.”

“You chase—” She cut off suddenly, looking embarrassed. “I shouldn’t say that. I’m sorry.”

That hurt. He covered it by finishing off his cocktail. “I’ll be back. I’d feel guilty dragging Broik right back to the table. I’m ordering at the bar.” He didn’t need a genius intellect to be able to fill in the blank of what she almost said. Also, he realized that what she said about how she felt with Worf had some uncomfortable parallels to how Garak seemed to feel with him recently. He questioned the wisdom of what he’d told him about Gaia, yet if he hadn’t, wouldn’t it have gotten to him some other way and only been worse?

He rested his elbows on the bar to wait for Quark. The Ferengi turned toward him with two drinks in hand and set them before a couple of patrons a few stools down. “Something wrong with the service?” Quark strained to look over the crowd, trying to seek out the waiter.

“No,” Julian said quickly. He didn’t want to get Broik into trouble. “I just...” He raced to find an excuse, then leaned in closer. “I was just wondering if you had any sort of special reserve. Something that wouldn’t make it onto the menu.”

“That depends on if you have the latinum,” Quark said. Whether he believed him or not was hard to say. His avaricious look covered anything under the surface.

“You know I’m good for it.”

“I have a good vintage of Kandora champagne.” His smile told him it would be costly for an offhand deception.

“Perfect,” he said without a twitch. “Please, have it delivered to our table.”

“Our table?” Quark asked, looking out beyond his shoulder.

A quick glance showed him Dax was gone. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“You still want the champagne?”

He shoved away from the bar without another word, stalking toward the exit.

“Was it something I said?” Quark called to his retreating back.

She must have moved quickly, because by the time he reached the Promenade, she was nowhere to be seen. He debated the merits of hailing her over his comm badge and decided against it. He had seen her in moods like that before. No matter what he said, she would likely find some way to twist it, and in his mood, it would erupt into a full blown argument.

He stepped out of the flow of traffic to give himself time to make a decision. It was something he had avoided since his return from Gaia, becoming a source of awkwardness over time, because the longer he avoided it, the weirder it would be if he finally capitulated. “Don’t be such a coward,” he muttered, lifted his hand, and tapped his badge. “Bashir to Kirby.”

The computer’s voice responded, “Error. No Kirby in personnel records.”

“Computer, no Angie Kirby in personnel records?” he asked for clarification.

“Affirmative,” the emotionless voice responded.

“Computer, when did Angie Kirby transfer from the Defiant crew?” he asked.

“Insufficient clearance for query.”

He frowned. She had been a science officer but not directly under Dax’s command except for that specific mission. He tried to think of who her commanding officer was, only to abandon the thought as it formed. It was unprofessional to ask, and if she hadn’t wanted anyone to know she was leaving or where she was going, he wouldn’t get an answer. He felt guilty for not contacting her sooner. If she left so quickly, she must have been in a bad way after the mission, just as he and everyone else had been, but she was too new to have the support some of them did.

He thought about what Dax said of Nerys. He believed he might know what was going on there. He wasn’t really close enough to her to go digging, but he had promised Odo, the one on Gaia, that he would look out for his counterpart here. After hearing that it was Odo from the planet who had driven the ship off course, he had been avoiding him. _Unfairly,_ he thought. It was too late to be of any help or comfort to Angie. He could still be there for Odo.

He walked to the security office to find him busy at his desk. He glanced up from a report when he entered. “Is there something I can help you with, Doctor?” he asked. The look was cautious, wary.

“I wanted to know when you were getting off duty,” he pushed ahead, determined to have one conversation tonight that wouldn’t be overly melancholy or awkward.

“I get off at 2100 hours,” Odo said. “Why?”

“I thought we could...talk.” He realized that he didn’t know what Odo did for entertainment and remembered from his time as a solid that he wasn’t very fond of the mouth noises of eating or drinking, so getting a bite was out.

Odo closed the office door behind him and gestured to the seat before him. “We can talk now. Is something wrong?”

“No,” he blurted. “I mean...I don’t know? I haven’t had a chance to speak to you outside of work since... Or rather, I’ve had chances. I haven’t taken them.” So much for not being awkward. He slipped into the seat and leaned forward with his hands laced on the desk. “Are you all right?”

Odo looked away, obviously flummoxed. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “This is something we shouldn’t talk about here.”

“I’m fine with that,” Julian said. “Can I meet you here after you get off shift? I don’t care where we go afterward.”

Odo paused long enough for him to expect a refusal. He sagged a little in relief when he said, “Yes. I’d... I’d like that.”

“All right then.” He felt as though his smile was too bright for the occasion when he stood. It was a long habit he still hadn’t found a way to break. “I look forward to it.”

He decided against going back to the bar. He didn’t want to be intoxicated for the conversation. This was about supporting Odo as a friend, not about making a fool of himself and possibly saying more than he ought to about his own issues and woes. There was always extra work he could be doing in the infirmary. He waved away Frendel’s protests that he didn’t need to push himself so hard and settled in his office to put some more effort into a research paper he’d been neglecting.

The hour and a half dragged. By the end of it, he didn’t have nearly enough text to justify how long he’d been sitting there. His mind was all over the place. He didn’t know what to do for his friends or himself. He wasn’t sure what was going on with Garak. Every effort he made to assure him their relationship was solid met with skepticism, not always openly, no, but he had been with him long enough to read some of his expressions accurately. He wished he had never asked for that essay, not because he didn’t want more insight into Cardassian culture but because he couldn’t shake the feeling it was part of Garak’s problem.

_Have I made you homesick?_ he wondered.

He shut down his work station for the night and emerged rubbing at the back of his neck to stave off a tension headache. He called a companionable, “Good night for real, this time,” to the nurse and made his way back down to the security office. Odo didn’t keep him waiting.

After a moment’s thought, he offered, “Would you like to come back to my quarters?”

“Won’t Garak be there?” Odo asked.

“No, he received a huge fabric shipment this morning. I’m quite certain he’s locked himself in his workshop until further notice. I’m on my own tonight.”

The changeling nodded, still looking somewhat anxious. “If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t,” he reassured him. He decided against bringing up how neither of them had invited each other over to their respective quarters before. He chalked part of it up to Odo’s intense sense of privacy. Maybe one day he could break that barrier. Maybe tonight was a start.

He didn’t try for small talk on the way. He had the feeling it wouldn’t be welcome or help him open up about what happened on the Defiant. Odo seemed to appreciate the fact that he didn’t expect conversation while they were out in public. Some of the alertness in his gaze eased in the turbolift. He hesitated before stepping over Julian’s threshold. Aside from a large swatch book on the dining table and a bottle of blue kanar on his sideboard, there wasn’t much evidence in the front room that he and Garak shared the place now.

Julian gestured toward the seating area. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He bit back an offer to get him anything. He could think of nothing he had that he’d want.

Odo nodded and claimed the chair, his back very straight and arms spreading to rest on the armrests with clenched fists.

Julian took the far end of the couch to avoid crowding him. “I want you to know I don’t blame you in any way for what happened on the Defiant,” he said.

“That’s comforting.” Sarcasm curdled the response, the wary look returning.

He sighed. “I only said that because you seem on edge, and I thought that might be why. If you’re worried that anyone holds you responsible, you shouldn’t be. I know that your counterpart from Gaia told Nerys about your feelings. He told me when I was down on the planet.” The changeling jerked almost imperceptibly. So that was it.

“Yes, I know about that. Did he tell you he joined with me?” Something in his careful facade began to crack. There was a note of pain in the question that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“No.” That was a shock. He blinked, unsure of what to say.

Odo nodded, not meeting his gaze. “I know everything he did. Remember what he was thinking before he did it. I...I understand why he did it. Nerys isn’t... she isn’t talking to me beyond work. She said she needs some time.”

He let out a slow exhale. “When you say you know everything...”

“I mean everything. All two hundred years of it. If he held anything back, it wasn’t much.” Odo finally looked at him, and he realized what a difficult conversation this was for him to have. “I could tell you more about how you were after the crash if you want. About your wife and children.”

“No,” he said immediately. He felt his throat trying to tighten. “I don’t want to hear any of that. It’s too painful. I’m sorry. I know that in some ways that probably isolates you further, and it isn’t my intention.”

“You don’t have to explain, Julian.”

There were times it was easy to forget how gentle the constable could be. He shot him a grateful look. “I didn’t want to make this about me. I’m really worried about you. About Nerys, Dax, the captain. Some seem to have taken this harder than others, and—” 

“Always a doctor.” Odo smiled faintly. “Let me ease your worry on one count. I’m fine. It’s a relief in a way to have everything out in the open. I know Nerys is having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he changed the ship’s course for her. I’m having some trouble with that, myself. We’ll work past it, somehow. I trust our friendship enough to believe that.”

“So you don’t need the intrepid doctor to the rescue,” he said, trying to force humor he had a difficult time finding.

“I’ll always need my friends, including the intrepid doctor.” Odo said. “He wasn’t wrong about that.”

_Garak  
Cargo Bay 2_

Garak and Worf circled one another in low, gliding steps, hands raised defensively and feeling one another out for a weakness or an opening. The Klingon’s dark eyes flickered an instant before he lunged. Garak flowed to the side and delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs in passing. “Ghay’cha’!” Worf growled. As he spun, the Cardassian dropped impossibly low and caught his instep forcefully with his heel, sending him crashing down to the floor grating with a loud clang.

“You’re not even trying,” Garak protested. “Too much gagh last night?”

Flipping himself to his feet with a flex of his back, Worf snarled, “Shut up, unless you think talking me to death is a strategy.” He returned to circling, his expression focused and determined. This time he landed an untelegraphed kick squarely in Garak’s chest that sent him staggering back several feet. He followed with an aggressive charge.

Once more, Garak dropped nearly parallel to the floor, this time using Worf’s momentum to reach up and throw him head first. The charge was so uncontrolled, Worf catapulted into a shipping crate beyond their cleared sparring circle. Garak straightened and watched him climb to his feet on his own, panting and shaking his head to clear it. 

“I think we’re done for the day,” Garak announced. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. I don’t intend to be the one to explain to Dax and Captain Sisko that I broke your neck because you were being inexcusably reckless.”

“I don’t want to talk about Jadzia!” As soon as the words were past his lips, he scowled.

Garak surmised it was the Klingon equivalent of a facepalm. “I’m happy to indulge you in not having a heart to heart,” he said airily. “I am not happy sparring with you when it’s clear to me that you’re willing to take a beating you ought to be able to avoid.”

“I am not willing to take a beating.” Worf’s voice dripped acid.

Arching an eye ridge, he couldn’t resist prodding him. “No stomach for it? Surprising for a ‘warrior of the Empire.’”

“That is not—” he started, voice raising, only to tighten back down his control and rein it in. “I will not allow you to provoke me senselessly.”

Smirking, he turned away to head for his towel. It didn’t surprise him that it was more trouble with Dax. He was on the outermost edge of the gossip orbit and still managed to hear more than interested him about their fights. “Find me when you make up,” he said without looking back. “I’d hate to deprive you of a way to reclaim your honor.”

“You wouldn’t understand honor if it kicked you in the face,” Worf retorted.

He smiled to himself on his way out of the bay. Things must not be too terrible at home. There was nothing wrong with the Klingon’s ability to hold his own verbally.

He performed a few cool down moves while walking back to his quarters. He’d need a shower before heading to work. He had been working with the new cloth shipment for over a week now and felt like he needed at least three more weeks, when the deadline he’d set for himself was only days away. Julian would probably be awake by now. It surprised him that he made it out of bed without his noticing. Every once in a while, it seemed that exhaustion caught up with his lover.

This early there were almost no civilians about except the few who owned businesses. He nodded a cordial greeting to the Bolian who owned the liquor store a level above him when they passed in the turbolift and received one in turn. As soon as he reached his quarters, he heard the comm chiming from the other side of the door. Letting himself in, he could now hear that Julian was in the shower. He crossed to the flashing display and accepted the transmission. “Captain,” he said pleasantly, hiding his surprise, “the doctor is—” 

Sisko cut him off. “Actually, I’m not calling for the doctor, Garak. I’d like to speak with you at your earliest convenience. Sooner is better than later.”

“I can be there within the hour,” he offered. “Your office?”

“Yes. I’ll let Ops know I’m expecting you. Sisko out.”

Intriguing. Aside from sporadic dinners for conversations that had neither of them any closer to understanding or recovering their lost memories of their seemingly related visions, hallucinations, or whatever they were, the captain had nothing to do with him, and he liked it that way. He had known plenty of men like him, sanctimonious and superioristic, who looked down on people they believed had dirty hands. Sisko kept him close the way one might a nasty flayblade in a boot, likely hoping he’d never need him but not naïve enough to believe he wouldn’t. It left a sour taste in his mouth that he couldn’t afford to expel.

He replicated himself a glass of rokassa juice and had managed half of it in his leisurely way by the time Julian emerged from the bedroom dressed for work. The doctor’s face lit at the sight of him. “I was hoping I’d get to see you before I left. Why didn’t you awaken me?”

“You were sleeping so heavily it seemed you needed it.” He set the rest of the juice in the recycler and accepted a greeting kiss. “You don’t want to get too close to me. I’ll dirty your uniform. I was sparring.”

“I thought you might have been,” he said with a nod at his towel still over his shoulder. “I wish I had time for breakfast with you, but I have an early meeting.”

“I need to clean up, anyway.” He didn’t mention Sisko’s summons. There was no reason for that until he knew what he wanted from him. It might not be important enough to worry him.

“If I don’t get swamped at the infirmary today, I’ll be happy to have lunch,” Julian offered.

“I’d like that.” Garak moved into the bedroom to strip for his shower. Julian was gone when he emerged and dressed. He decided it would be imprudent to keep the captain waiting and took his little used route to Ops without further delay. It gave him a private sense of satisfaction to see the staff’s unease at his presence despite the warning they must have received from Sisko not so long ago. He glided past them with feigned indifference and allowed the major to announce him without crowding her back. Her look at him was merely curious when she returned to her station. For the most part, they had long since set aside open rancor, settling instead for lingering mistrust except in matters involving Ziyal.

Sisko was already standing when he entered and took a seat at the same time he did. So this was a friendly meeting, or the man wanted him to believe it was. “You’re looking well, Garak,” he said pleasantly. “I trust life here on the station is still to your liking?”

Maybe it wasn’t to be so friendly after all. Did he hear a vague hint of threat in that question? “Very much so,” he answered in kind. “Business has slowed, however. I believe that can be said of all of us on the Promenade. Fewer visitors these days.”

“Yes, and who can blame them when we have Dominion ships patrolling the other side of the wormhole on constant alert?”

Garak thought he heard underlying frustration and anger in the rhetorical question. He didn’t believe it was directed his way, but he couldn’t be sure. If Sisko hoped to force him to ask why he was here, he was going to disappoint him. Whatever this was, he would give him no openings to exploit. He simply sat in what he thought of as his “_friendly and receptive_” posture, the one that invited anyone else with him to open up and talk.

“I have a favor to ask of you. I don’t think you’re going to like it.” The man leaned forward and snagged his baseball to toy with. “It really is just a favor. I have no intention of pressuring you to accept.”

“You have my full attention,” he said. He didn’t for an instant think Sisko was above strong arming him if he didn’t give an answer to his liking. There was no harm in taking a taste of the bribe he sensed coming before braving the goad.

“I can’t imagine how upsetting it is seeing your homeworld occupied by invading forces,” Sisko said gravely.

“You mean allies?” He knew his sardonic tone wouldn’t be lost on the captain.

The corners of the captain’s mouth twitched faintly upward. “Our resources here on Deep Space Nine are limited and outdated when it comes to communications, among many other things. How would you like as detailed of a report as I have on what is taking place in the Cardassian System right now? Unofficially, of course.”

“What do you want me to do?” he purred.

_The Infirmary_

Sisko wanted the team leaving for Empok Nor as soon as possible. Garak had just enough time to pack an overnight bag and swing by Julian’s work to fill him in on the details. He waited until he finished with a patient and gestured at him from the waiting room. Julian checked his PADD and beckoned him back to his office, turning immediately into the hallway.

“You could have hailed me on the comm about lunch,” he said over his shoulder once the door shut. “I can make it if I’m able to get through the next three patients.” He trailed off, finally getting a good look at him and realizing he had a bag with him. “This isn’t about lunch.”

“No. I’m going to the Trivas System on a salvage mission with the chief and an engineering crew. We’re leaving within the hour.”

“When did you plan to tell me?” he asked, his brows dropping low.

“As soon as I had time after packing my bags. I’m just as surprised as you are. The captain summoned me for a meeting after you left for work. Apparently, Engineering needs some equipment they can’t easily attain anywhere else, so we’re going to an abandoned space station to get it.” The small lie about the timing came so easily, he wasn’t fully aware he’d done it.

“An abandoned Cardassian station,” Julian clarified.

“They’d hardly need me for Federation salvage,” he said, annoyed. “You know I don’t like it when you play slow.”

“Sorry,” Julian muttered. “Force of habit. You’ll be careful?”

He arched an eye ridge.

“I know. _You_ know I’m going to worry, just as you do for me when I have an away mission. Here’s hoping it’s uneventful and boring. Most salvage missions are.”

_Most salvage missions that aren’t on Cardassian stations,_ Garak thought somberly. “Give me a proper send off,” he demanded, extracting as much enjoyment from the good-bye kiss as he could and taking a small measure of satisfaction in leaving him wanting and breathless. It was a fitting down payment on the payback he owed him for last week.

The sight of O’Brien on the way to the runabout stole any lingering good mood he felt from the parting. He put on a blandly pleasant facade. There was no way this would be a good time. He was sure of it.

**Part II**

_Julian  
Runabout Pad 1_

The last thing he had expected was for his wait for Garak’s return to end in such horrific news. He stood in tense silence with his medical team just outside the landing pad, already informed by Miles that they were coming in with four dead crew members, two dead Cardassian soldiers, and Garak unconscious and injured. Rom, too, stood near the team, anxiously wringing his hands and breathing rapidly. He didn’t know if it would help or not, but he offered, “The chief said Nog is fine. They did tell you that, right?”

“I want to see him for myself,” Rom snapped.

“I understand,” Julian said quietly. He wanted to see Garak. He still had no idea what had happened. All he knew was there was a very odd tone in Miles’ voice when he hailed him, something that went beyond losing most of his crew. Dread sat leaden in his stomach.

The light above the door switched from green to red. In less than half a minute, it switched back to green. “Wait here,” Julian told Rom and waved his team into the bay. He followed them and rushed into the runabout with them as soon as the doors opened. Miles and Nog were injured, too, both of them dirty, anxious, and trying to speak at the same time. “Later,” he said to them. “Let Nurse Schmidt look you over to see if you need to be held overnight.”

The woman stepped forward and took both of them in hand. Julian coordinated with Nurses Frendel and Walczak to get Garak on the magnetic stretcher and moving toward the exit. He noticed the crudely covered bodies lying stacked near the back bay door of the runabout and ordered more of the team to get them to the morgue. He’d want to examine each of them once he had Garak stabilized.

As long as he had a logical process he needed to follow, he could keep all of his anxiety and fear at bay. Fortunately, he had extensive medical records for Garak. He would easily be able to tell what readings were off when he had him on a biobed. They hurried down the corridors, the hour late enough that there was no one in the way. Garak looked still and peaceful, deeply unconscious, not even his eyes shifting beneath their lids. A quick flash of his pen light under a lifted lid elicited pupil activity. There was that, at least.

It was in the exam room that the true challenges presented themselves. His brain waves were bizarrely erratic, and imaging showed the most activity and blood flow in areas responsible for fear and aggression. “I want a neural stabilizer pad on him stat,” he barked. If he were to awaken in that state, he might kill all of them before he even registered what he had done. “And prep me 40 milligrams of Axonol on standby.”

He didn’t want to inject him with anything until his tox screening processed. He followed along with the list as quickly as it scrolled by on the display, manually stopping it for a closer look when a chemical showed up that he had never seen before. “Computer, analyze line seventeen.”

“Unknown substance.”

“Extrapolate against known compounds similar in molecular structure.” He and the team worked well together, familiar enough with each other and the work not to get in one another’s way as they moved about the biobed.

The computer’s answer came after several tense seconds. “Substance is chemically related to psychotropic compounds developed for discontinued experimental research on boosting wartime aggression in Klingons on Deep Space Station K-7 during the first Federation-Klingon War.”

“Shit,” Julian groaned.

“Rephrase request.”

“No, computer. That wasn’t a request.” His mind raced. “Were any antidotes ever developed for the original drugs?”

“Affirmative. Ant—” 

He overrode the rest of the response. “Analyze all data on known antidotes and compare against fatal or dangerous drug interactions in Cardassians. Provide me a list of the most effective ones excluded from the contraindictions.”

The computer named two, neither of which were ever marketed. Fortunately, the complete formulas were available in Starfleet records. Julian plugged both into the drug synthesizer. He wanted a back up if the first thing he tried for Garak didn’t work well. Given his spotty history with unpredictable reactions to medications, it seemed like a necessary precaution.

Frendel said, “It looks as though he sustained damage from an overloaded phaser. He has severe burns on his feet and legs. I’ve started the deep tissue regenerator. The impact of whatever he hit broke several of his transverse ribs. I’ll get the bone regenerator going once the burns are taken care of. He doesn’t seem to be having issues breathing. I don’t want to overtax his system.”

“He also has a severe concussion and a hemorrhage in his left premotor cortex,” Walczak added. “Do you want me to initialize a Lazbetocil drip?”

“Hold off on that. Computer, analyze possible contraindictions for Cardassian anatomy against Lazbetocil interactions with the unknown psychotropic substance.” While he waited, he asked, “How severe is the hemorrhage?”

“There’s enough swelling that I’m concerned about seizures, Sir,” the nurse said.

“Forty point two percent probability of fatal interaction,” the computer announced.

“Damn it,” Julian muttered. “Let’s insert a drain. Those are unacceptable odds.” He asked about a few other potential issues with interactions for various drugs he wanted to use for him while prepping for the minor surgery.

After a few hours, he had two fresh batches of antidotes to try, deciding on the one that seemed it might have fewer side effects to begin with. During the waiting time, he worked on the autopsies, starting with the dead Cardassian soldiers and moving methodically to the engineers and security officers. It disturbed him to find not only high concentrations of the psychotropic substance in both soldiers, but neurological evidence that they had been subjected to the treatments over an extended period of time, their brain architecture abnormal by any standards.

In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but to fret about what happened. He very much feared Garak played a part in some of the deaths, particularly Boq’ta’s broken neck and Amaro’s brutal stabbing with a flux coupler. _Please be wrong,_ he thought.

It was nearly sixteen hours after the return of the runabout that Garak regained consciousness. By then, Captain Sisko had filled Julian in on some of the details of the mission as heard from Miles and Nog. Julian immediately stood from the chair he occupied near the bed and checked to be sure the stabilizer pad was still secure on his forehead. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re safe in the infirmary on Deep Space Nine. Can you talk?”

The reply came out slurred. “Not easily. I feel...strange.”

He nodded and smoothed his hand over the gown covering his shoulder. “I’m not surprised. You’ve been through a lot. I want you resting.”

“The chief and Nog?” he asked, worry etched in the lines of his eyes and mouth.

“Both alive and well. Neither of them needed a stay here. They’re home with their families, safe.”

“No thanks to me.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were drugged.” He felt for him so terribly much. It was hard to keep the tension from his voice, to stay calm when he knew he had to be hurting.

“I remember the chief telling me that. I didn’t feel drugged,” he said, his words still slow but gaining in clarity.

“Well, you were.” He offered him a final pat and moved to step toward the drug port.

Garak’s sudden grip of his wrist held him in place. His strength after everything he had been through surprised him. “You’re not hearing me,” he said intensely. “I didn’t feel drugged. I felt like myself. I felt more like myself than I have in a very long time.”

Covering his hand with his free one, he gripped him almost as tightly. “You’re not a cold blooded murderer. You would never hunt down Rom’s son and toy with his life just for thrills. The drugs acted on your amygdala and limbic system. They made you irrationally aggressive and xenophobic. I can show you images of your brain scan after we got you here versus now if you don’t believe me. There is a marked difference.”

He released him and lay his hand against his stomach, something closing off in the way he looked at him. “As you say. Thank you, Julian.”

He resisted confronting him about what was obviously false capitulation. He needed his rest and time to absorb what had happened. “I know what you used to do, who you used to be,” he offered as he reached for the vial of Axonol. “I’m sure that there were times when you were on assignment that you felt...very much like you felt on the drug, the adrenaline, the excitement of the hunt. The difference is you were working then. It was your mission. You weren’t an out of control killer on the streets.”

He thought he heard Garak mutter, “I was very in control on that station.” He didn’t want to answer him. He shoved the vial into the port and watched his features relax from the sedative. They could deal with Garak’s misconceptions after he was fully drug free and recovered from his injuries. For now, he had something else to do while Garak was sleeping. He informed Schmidt he was leaving and told her to contact him immediately if anything changed.

_Rom’s Quarters_

Only a few seconds after Julian’s hail, Rom hurried from his dimly lit chamber and had the computer shut the door behind him. “Nog just fell asleep,” he explained.

Julian nodded. “I’m glad. It’ll be good for him. If he develops any odd pain or symptoms—”

“I’ll make sure he comes to the infirmary.” Rom’s eyes seemed more sunken than normal, his mouth pulled down in a deep frown. He stared down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together nervously. “Tell me Garak didn’t really do this,” he said low. He jumped almost a foot at the hiss of the door opening at his back.

“I’m not asleep, Father,” Nog said dully. He stared up at Julian a few moments and stepped back to gesture both of them into the cramped room.

Julian felt awkward. He stood near the door and decided on adopting a relaxed parade rest. Nog folded his arms and leaned against the rumpled bed. Rom stood beside him and hesitantly rested a hand on his shoulder. Julian noticed he didn’t shrug it off.

“Your father just asked me if Garak did what you said he did,” he said. “And the answer to that is no. That wasn’t Garak. The drug in his system, as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, was specifically designed to bring out extreme aggression in Cardassians. It activated primitive regions of his brain and sent them into hyper-overdrive.”

“He was still talking just fine,” Nog said. “He didn’t sound primitive.”

Julian frowned and swallowed. He had to expect this. After what Nog had been through, there might not be anything he could say that would ease his mind or convince him Garak didn’t mean him harm. “It didn’t shut down his higher thinking, but it did overwhelm it. He felt what he did was logical and justified at the time. I must emphasize that he doesn’t think that now.”

“H-how do you know?” Rom asked. His grip tightened on his son’s shoulder. 

Nog reached up, patted his hand reassuringly and whispered something to him Julian didn’t catch.

“The first thing he did when he regained consciousness was ask after both the chief and Nog. He was worried.” He hadn’t come here to defend Garak. However, if an explanation was what both of them needed, he was willing to provide it.

“How can we know it won’t happen again?” Nog asked, chin lifting.

“Well, we don’t have a trace of the drug anywhere here on the station,” Julian replied, “and I’m treating him with a different drug that will neutralize it in his system. By the time he leaves the infirmary, he’ll be fully back to himself.”

“When can I see him?” Rom asked. There was a light in his eyes Julian didn’t like.

“Not for a little while. I want to be sure he’s fully stable first. Rom...” He hesitated, weighing a violation of Garak’s privacy against the importance of Rom’s understanding of the situation. “He respects and admires you tremendously.”

“He does?” Rom blurted, eyes widening.

“Yes,” Julian said. “He does. He has said it to me many times in many different ways. He would never do anything to hurt you or your loved ones deliberately. I imagine the guilt of this is going to weigh on him for some time. I understand if you feel angry, if you both do. It’s natural. Just please, try to keep in mind this was something no one had any control over, least of all Garak.”

Nog’s mouth remained tightly pursed. His reluctant nod was slow to come. Rom followed suit, still looking extremely troubled. 

“Would it make you feel better if I asked Constable Odo to authorize a security detail here until I’ve released Garak from my care?”

Nog and Rom spoke at the same time, their, “No,” and, “Yes,” overlapping. Nog shook his head firmly and addressed his father. “I don’t need special treatment. The only reason I’m here and not in my own quarters is to make you feel better. I’m fine.”

Julian highly doubted that, yet it wasn’t his to gainsay, not until Nog displayed any behaviors on duty that caused issues. He looked at Rom questioningly. From a Starfleet perspective, it was Nog’s call. He tried to keep in mind what Garak had told him about how he treated Rom, not wanting to step on parental toes.

“I’d feel better.” His posture stiffened when he looked at Nog. “It’s for my peace of mind.”

Nog sighed and nodded, his quick glance at Julian embarrassed. “Then that’s settled, I guess, and I would like to try to get some sleep. I have to report for duty early in the morning.”

“I thought the captain said you could take a day to recover,” Rom countered.

Irritation flashed across the cadet’s face. “No! Father, this is my career. What I do now will shape where I’m able to go later. No one will want a coward.” He looked at Julian as though he expected him to back him up.

“No one will see you as a coward if you need time to recover from an ordeal.” He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, everything he said some sort of point scored for one or the other. This one went to Rom, judging from his satisfied expression.

“You see? The doctor thinks you should take a day off, too.”

“I don’t need it!” Nog’s irritation erupted into full blown anger. He whirled to face Julian. “Are you officially removing me from duty, Doctor Bashir?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t see a reason to do that right now, but...” He held up a cautioning finger. “If you start feeling overly anxious or jumpy, or seeing movement out of the corners of your eyes, or having flashbacks of what happened, I want you to tell me. It could seriously compromise your safety and that of others if allowed to go unchecked. That’s an order, Cadet.”

“That isn’t going to happen, but yes, Sir.” He saluted sharply and shot Rom an, _I told you so,_ look.

Julian decided it was time to leave. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said to Nog. “And I appreciate that you looked out for the chief.”

Rom followed him out into the corridor. “You’ll send the security detail?” he asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I’m...sorry if anything I said in there undermined your authority. It wasn’t my intention.”

“I’ve never had all that much authority with Nog,” Rom said disconsolately. “Brother was always the disciplinarian, not that he listens to him much anymore either. It’s hard to accept, but he’s grown. He’s going places I never will.”

He doubted he’d have understood him as well before he had descendents to consider, however briefly. He took a risk and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Rom, you and Quark both have done an incredible job raising that young man. He’s a credit to both of you, and it’s plain he loves you. You must have done something right.” He ended the squeeze with a couple of pats and stepped back.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He quickly wiped a tear from the corner of one eye. “He’s my whole world. If you get to talk to the chief before I do, tell him how grateful I am he brought my boy home in one piece.”

“I’ll do that.” He offered a final nod and wave before turning to go. It was a little too late to check in with Miles tonight given Keiko and the children were with him. He believed that if anything were too terribly amiss, he’d have contacted him or come to the infirmary. After hailing Odo to arrange the promised security, he stopped by his quarters for a shower and change of uniform, then returned to the infirmary to catch a few winks on the cot in his office, secure in the knowledge his staff would awaken him if needed.

_Garak  
Cardassia City_

Larnak barely acknowledged him when he stepped into the too bright interrogation room, too busy arranging instruments on a gleaming metal tray on a stand near the back wall. The subject sat on a flimsy chair in the middle of the room, not bound, oddly enough, but looking uncomfortable nonetheless. He boldly met Garak’s eyes at first, only to look away within less than a minute of scrutiny.

If Garak had to guess, he was a university student or a recent graduate. He wasn’t old enough to be established in any career and had the somewhat abstract demeanor of an academic. Possibly one of the agitator Lang’s compatriots? That might explain the loose arrangement of the room, an intimidation session rather than an attempt to extract important information.

He adopted a deceptively relaxed, curious posture and demeanor as much for the benefit of the subject as for Larnak. This was the first time he’d received summons for anything like this, although he’d been expecting it for some time. Despite the fact that the interrogator had his back to them, he had no doubt he was aware of everything he needed to know about both him and the subject.

At last satisfied with his organization, Larnak turned and walked right past him with nothing more than an incline of his head by way of greeting. The door hissed open and shut with barely a whisper behind him, leaving him alone with the subject.

So it was a test then, or rather, it was all he could assume given his lack of any instructions beyond time and location. The subject relaxed subtly with the departure of Larnak. He couldn’t have that. “Stand up,” he said. He shifted his posture almost imperceptibly, and rather than his habitual dampening of his energy field, he projected it with the command.

The young man scrambled instantly to his feet and assessed him with open anxiety. That was better.

_The Infirmary_

“Your tests are all normal,” Julian said. “No trace of the drug in your system. I’m releasing you, but I want you to be sure to get plenty of rest and not overdo it for the next few days.”

“I’d hardly call my job taxing,” he said mildly.

Shaking his head, Julian said, “I know better, and I know you. You can’t fool me, anyway. I’ll be there with you in your down time.”

“About that,” Garak said. “I need some time to myself.”

Julian stiffened. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Am I released from your care, or not?” he asked. “If you think I bear watching in my off time, then perhaps you should keep me here. That way there are always eyes on me, and you get the occasional break.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He dropped his voice lower so that the rest of the staff wouldn’t overhear. “I’m not worried you’re going to harm anyone.”

“Then what?” he asked, presenting nothing to him but calm poise and neutral curiosity.

He sighed. “I know you feel bad about Crewman Amaro and what you did to Miles and Nog. I don’t want you feeling like you have to isolate yourself from me or anybody else. The inquest is more or less a formality. No one is going to hold you responsible for what you did under the influence of a powerful psychotropic.”

“Mm. You think I’m asking for alone time to punish myself? That’s really more a human reaction than a Cardassian one, Julian. We’re not relentlessly social, and while, yes, I do feel regret for Amaro’s death and hurting your crew mates, I’m not trying to head into isolation to nurse guilt.” He hoped he’d be willing to leave it at that without really expecting it.

“Then help me to understand why you are. I’m not asking this as your doctor.” The worry was plain in his gaze, and Garak could see the effort he expended not to reach out to him in other ways. He had at least learned one thing about him when he needed his space.

“It doesn’t matter to me what role you’re taking with me right now. Doctor or lover, it isn’t something I wish to discuss or need to justify. I’m going to my original quarters, and when I’m ready for company again, I’ll contact you. Don’t push me on this, or we’ll both regret it.” It wasn’t hard to summon one of his colder stares.

Julian’s sudden flare of anger masked hurt, not well enough for him not to see it. “You can’t just treat me like this. Not anymore. Those quarters are as much mine as yours now. We don’t live separate lives that occasionally intersect. We’re together.” They were beginning to draw attention from the nurses. He seized Garak’s arm to draw him into his office.

In his mind’s eye, he reversed the hold and twisted his arm painfully. It took all of his control not to turn thought into action. He allowed him to pull him along. The hiss of the door closing behind them took him straight back to the interrogation room.

_Cardassia City_

“I haven’t done anything!” The subject finally broke his silence, hammering Garak with all of the indignant outrage at his treatment he could muster. “This has to be some sort of mistake. I’m studying economics at Central University. I’m not even that good at it.”

He curved a sardonic smile. “Haven’t done anything?” he asked airily. “That’s quite the claim. I’m to believe you sprang whole cloth from nothingness into existence just now?” First rule of interrogation: put them on the defensive.

“What? No, of course not. That’s preposterous. You know it’s not what I’m saying!” He seemed to regain some of his confidence from the outrageous question.

“What I know,” Garak retorted with precise annunciation, happy to take him right back down again, “is that everything you say to me from this moment forward had best be the absolute truth.” He glanced over the subject’s shoulder at the tray of instruments he had yet to see clearly, himself. “If you’re going to claim you haven’t done anything, when we have detailed records dating back to your first molar extraction, well...you’re going to find it a hard sell.”

He blanched a sickly gray and shut his mouth so hard that Garak heard his teeth clack together.

“That’s better. Let’s start over. Do you know why you’re here? I advise you to think very carefully before you answer.”

_The Infirmary_

“Garak?” Julian snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, causing him to jerk back.

“Stop that!”

“I’m not so sure I should release you from care after all. You were a million kilometers away. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I don’t think it’s normal. I ought to do more tests.” He was firmly back in doctor territory now, his look probing and assessing, an open glimpse of the intellect he usually kept somewhat masked.

“Your tests won’t show you anything.” More than ever, he was certain he needed time alone. He’d never be able to work through what was happening to him being poked and prodded or constantly interrupted. However, there was no chance Julian would allow him to leave with no explanation. He had been able to use his status as a Cardassian citizen once to override receiving treatment against his will. That time, he hadn’t murdered a Starfleet security officer, attempted to murder an engineer, or abducted a cadet.

“So something is wrong.” His silence after the statement was expectant.

“My memory doesn’t function like a human’s.” He pushed past him to give himself at least the illusion of a little more room. He couldn’t stand being backed up against the door like that. The console had open space above and below it. He wrestled with how much he could get away withholding versus how much he needed to share to buy himself the space and time he needed. “I don’t experience time the same way a human does. It doesn’t create distance from past events.”

When he fell quiet for too long, Julian said, “And? Are you having flashbacks to Empok Nor?”

“No, not about Empok Nor. Technically, every memory I have is a flashback. It’s normal for my people. Usually, we can stay anchored in the present because we’re trained to manage it so that we don’t get overwhelmed. There’s something I need to focus on for a little while. The fewer interruptions I have, the sooner I’ll be done with it. 

“You saw me just now. I wasn’t stalking the infirmary hunting down hapless nurses or patients. I was simply...inwardly focused rather than outwardly.” It was more than he would have chosen to tell under any other circumstances. Julian was too perceptive for an outright lie when he was this focused. He hoped it was enough, or he was resigned to having to spend several more nights in the infirmary while waiting for the inquest.

“So you’re just thinking deeply.” He folded his arms, his skepticism blatant. “And you need me to stay out of our quarters while you...what? The first time you blanked out on me like that, when you came out of it, you almost killed me.”

“And the second time it happened, I saved you and most of your prison bunkmates,” he said sharply, angry at having something thrown in his face he thought they were long past.

“You make it very hard for me to trust you sometimes. I don’t mean your intentions. I mean... When something is badly wrong, you never say anything until the issue is forced, and then more often than not I find myself dealing with a side of you I’ve never seen. You’re always telling me you’re dangerous. Now that I’m taking that seriously, you’re angry. If you were in my position, what would you do?” He dropped his arms and shifted from defensiveness to open appeal.

“I’d never be in your position.” He lifted his chin, eyes glittering.

It was difficult to discern the meaning of the doctor’s sudden exhalation. It was too melancholy for exasperation. He brought a hand up to his temple and rubbed a slow circle, eyes closing. “All right, Elim. Have it your way. Take half of our quarters alone for now, but I need you to understand something.”

“What?”

He fixed him with a pointed look. “This is the only time you’re going to shut me out like this. We need some ground rules going forward, or saying we’re living together is meaningless. I need you to tell me right now that you understand and agree.”

_How well you manage me,_ he thought, not without a degree of pain. “I do,” he said. He left for his quarters unsure of whether he felt more relieved or troubled. Nothing Julian had said was untrue, with some of it perhaps more true than the doctor realized. There were sides of himself he’d been forced to repress ruthlessly for the duration of his time on the station, going all the way back to his arrival well before the Starfleeters.

He managed to keep memory at bay until he was settled with the door locked and the lights down to a level he found more comfortable. It was a pity Starfleet and the Bajorans had shifted the spectrum more bluish white. He missed the ruddy hue of Prime’s red dwarf.

_Cardassia City_

“Why I’m here,” the subject said, stuttering a bit on the first word. He worked his mouth while casting about for something to explain such an alarming disruption of his routine. Garak took in every nuance and became more convinced by the moment that he was hiding something. “I don’t really—” 

Garak twitched a hand threateningly.

“Wait! Let me finish my sentence! I—I was going to say that I don’t really know that what I did is noteworthy enough to be here.” He licked obviously dry lips. “It’s like I told you. I’m not a great student. I...” He swallowed heavily. “I cheated on my last final. It was Deep Economic Theory and Algorithms. My worst class.”

He began to circle him slowly. “How did you get placed in economics in the first place if you’re as bad as you say?” he asked, keeping his tone light for now.

“That’s in my record.”

He slapped the back of his head without warning, stinging and aimed for a pressure point just beneath the hidden “v” where two ridges came together near the base of his skull. Garak knew it would throb for at least another two minutes. “Do you need a basic lesson in how this works?” he asked in a much more threatening tone. “I ask, you answer, I like what I hear, or it goes badly for you.” He stopped walking and stood at his back. He felt his temper starting to heat, a growing urge to teach him a lesson he’d not soon forget if he kept playing games with him.

“I’m sorry!” Hands twitching, he seemed to have to fight back the desire to rub at the back of his head. “My father is in the Ministry of Finance. He used his connections to ensure my spot. It’s not uncommon.”

Resuming his circling, he landed before him and offered a toothy smile. “Truly? I had no idea.”

“I’m nervous. I meant no offense.” He stared down at the toes of his shoes.

“If I were in your position, I’d be nervous, too,” he offered, confessional, almost conciliatory. “You’re right, you know. Cheating on an exam, no matter how distasteful it is that you allowed yourself to be caught, isn’t reason enough to be here. Since you’re clearly aware of that, you’ve just confessed to deliberately wasting my time.” He closed the distance between them to an uncomfortable invasion of his space. “If you were in _my_ position, how would that make you feel?”

_Private Quarters_

He flexed his hands and stood from the sofa to circle around to the space port. “Computer, lights out,” he said. His reflection disappeared, revealing a glow from the upper docking pylons and other space ports arrayed about the habitat ring that spilled into his room, not strong enough to block out the light from distant stars.

He’d felt so invincible in that moment, a honge circling in on wounded prey. He’d known he was onto something. He could taste it. Having someone else in his power like that erased all doubts of what he was doing as a probe. All of his long neighborhood walks, listening to conversations spoken behind high walls that didn’t offer nearly the privacy the residents believed, were paying off. They believed in him, not because Tain told them to but because he had given them reason to.

He’d felt that way again stalking the abandoned station with the drug induced, heightened sense of drive. Useful. Unmasked. Fully alive. Fully _Cardassian._ “Regnar” the probe would have been furious at being drugged only because it would mean the decisions he made were out of his full control, but never at the consequences. Any human foolish enough to trust any one of his people would deserve whatever came of it. How could he miss that person in light of his experiences on the station or his relationship with Julian?

_Cardassia City_

“A-angry.” The stutter was more pronounced, the subject’s scales dangerously pale, almost blue tinged around his mouth and the edges of his ridges.

“Angry! I’m not angry. I’m very disappointed.” Without warning, he kicked his legs from under him and sent him sprawling backward over the chair. It toppled with him to the floor. He pursued him with relentless brutality, landing kick after kick to his backside, his thighs, his flailing calves and arms, nothing with the potential for fatality or to make him incoherent. He stomped his hands bloody when he tried to cup them about his head to protect himself, stopping only when he could hear ugly, hitching sobs from the shelter of both arms over his face.

Crossing to the instrument tray, he ignored the scalpels, needles, awls, shockers, and pliers, instead taking up Larnak’s glass of water and tossing the contents contemptuously onto the student’s oozing hands and dark hair in disarray. “What do you think this recalcitrance of yours is costing the state? Maybe we should bill your parents. It sounds as though your father can well afford it.”

The subject’s posture stiffened. It was subtle beneath the wracking of his shoulders. He slowly rolled to his knees and elbows, drawing his hands down to his face and keeping both pressed to the plasticine floor. The sobbing morphed into constricted laughter, a bitter, terrible sound. “He wouldn’t care. A small cost finally to be rid of me.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Garak scoffed. Underneath the surface dismissal lay interest. It was a strange comment that he couldn’t discount as insignificant.

“I guess this means I’ll finally be rid of him, too.” He regained enough control to speak clearly and straightened up to rest on his knees. When his hands dropped away, Garak took pride in the fact that his face was unharmed. The twisted expression was purely a result of emotional turmoil and pain from other parts of his body. “Him and her. Their dirty little secret exposed. I knew it was only a matter of time. I told them sending me to the university was a mistake.”

He looked away from Garak toward the ceiling, not where the hidden camera actually rested in its tiny niche, but in the opposite direction. “I don’t have an eidetic memory. I never have. Every class, every test, every record, either bribed to perfection, coerced, or when that wasn’t enough, altered in the system during the grading process. My mother is a skilled programmer. The great Eldon Pok’s son is a fraud.” He looked back at Garak, eyes blazing. “Is that what you needed, you savage? Well, go on. Do your worst!” He spread both arms.

The door hissed behind him. Larnak’s voice said, “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

Garak turned without another word or glance at the subject, inclining his head politely to Larnak in passing. When he stepped into the corridor, another probe directed him toward a debriefing office where he assumed he would finally discover what he was actually meant to do in that room and if he’d succeeded.

_Private Quarters_

It seemed small now, stumbling upon a scandal when all his superiors wanted was to see how efficiently he could break someone down. He’d felt a sense of accomplishment at the time in dragging something out of someone they didn’t know to be guilty of anything beyond the cheating. And they were impressed enough with his vicious zeal to continue him on the path, one that ultimately led to an unsanctioned murder, exile, heartbreak, and an end to his usefulness to the Union.

He was something he didn’t recognize anymore. Palandine’s advice to smile, to cover his feelings with that mask of affability and easy loquaciousness, worked too well. It drew people to him and he in turn to them. It led to regret thick enough that he couldn’t face a widow or a father and cause them more pain with no more justification than sparing himself unanswered remorse.

“It’s why you shouldn’t tell the same lie twice,” he whispered into the sterile darkness. “You start believing it.”

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

The sound of his door hail didn’t particularly excite him. Garak wouldn’t bother with the chime. However, Miles was a welcome sight when he instructed the computer to open the door. He beckoned him in and set aside his medical journal. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It saves me the trouble of deciding when I should interrupt your family time.”

A corner of Miles’ lips lifted briefly. “I’m fine. For once I thought I’d get the jump on tellin’ you.”

“Thoughtful.” Julian stood and crossed to the sideboard. He opened the panel beneath it to pull out a scotch bottle and hold it up in silent offer.

Surprisingly, Miles shook his head. “I’d better not. I’m givin’ preliminary testimony tomorrow for the inquest.”

He poured himself a glass at that news, capped the bottle, and left it out just in case. “Cheers,” he said a little flatly and downed it. Turning to face him, he leaned against the sideboard and settled the heels of his palms against the lacquered black surface with fingers curved over the edge. “Is that the real reason you’re here?” It had to be. Never once in their friendship had he approached him to talk about his feelings first.

The chief looked uncomfortable. “Y’ know I don’t like when you do that.” He paused, sighed, and nodded. “All right. Yes. I didn’ want you worrying about what I’m going to say. The thing is, I’m a little worried about the panel.”

Julian shifted his weight slightly. He had the feeling that information had been kept from him deliberately and wondered if Miles was violating some confidence in telling him. He was too by the book to violate a direct order, but a suggestion? Perhaps not. “What about it?”

“It’s the captain, Dax, an’ Worf.” 

He felt his jaw tighten and a twinge of misgiving in his stomach. “You don’t think they’ll be fair?” he asked. He didn’t have any doubts about Captain Sisko, nor did he feel too much concern over Worf. However much the Klingon might dislike or mistrust Garak, he would never let personal feelings interfere with the honor of his official duty in a case. Dax? She could be something of a wild card. They only needed one dissenting vote for the inquest to be turned over to a higher court for something more serious.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and sat on one end of the sofa, not relaxed enough to lean back. “I’m not sure unfairness is the right way o’ puttin’ it. I think Dax might give more weight to all the questions of his background than the actual case. It could tip her t’ vote against him.”

Frowning, he pushed away from his lean to approach and take a seat cattycorner on his chair. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this if it’s out of line, but I never expected you to be worried for Garak, especially in light of what happened.”

Miles looked at his hands between his knees, lacing and unlacing his fingers slowly. “He...said a lot of things while we were there that weren’t untrue.”

“About what?” Garak telling the truth to someone he disliked? That was difficult to believe.

“About me.” He glanced up briefly to meet his gaze. The look was scalded. “About things I thought I’d put behind me that maybe I haven’t.”

He stayed quiet, not feeling as though he had enough of the picture yet to comment. He met the look with encouragement and as much openness as he could manage with his stomach clenching the way it was.

“He knows about Setlik Three. I guess I shouldn’t find it surprisin’. Jus’ like we know about Crell Moset or—” 

“You’re nothing like Crell Moset,” Julian said severely.

Miles waved it away. “That’s not what I’m tryin’ to say.” He let out another sigh and reached up to rub at his forehead. “I did things, things I’m not proud of, an’ Starfleet called me a hero for it. Do you have any idea how shite it feels t’ hear something like that when you know the truth?”

“The truth is that you did what needed to be done. You saved lives. You prevented a total massacre.” The truth was that he didn’t know how Miles felt. No matter what mistakes he’d made as a doctor, no matter how severe some of them were or how many deaths he caused from being wrong or overconfident, he had never set out to kill as many people as he could with as few resources as possible. He was not a soldier, and he could see in Miles’ eyes that he was thinking something very similar.

“It was th’ first time I killed a man. Someone handed me a phaser set to maximum. I didn’ even check. I just fired. Later, we went against that regiment like they were animals, an’ that’s how I had to think about ‘em to get it done. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped thinking about any of ‘em like that. Not deep down.” He was back to staring at his hands. “Garak knows that. He’s always known it. I think—” 

“Miles...” He didn’t know what he wanted to say. He only knew he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation and didn’t like him beating himself up for things he did in the line of duty.

“No, Julian. Don’t interrupt me. I think it’s why I’ve never liked him, because when we look at each other, we see each other. I see it in his eyes. We share all that darkness, an’...bloody hell. I don’t know. I can’t stand it. I don’t like thinkin’ about it, any of it. It’s why I have to make sure Dax and the rest of them know he was out of his head on that station.”

He didn’t understand and was afraid to say as much. He had never heard Miles talk like this in all the time they’d spent together. Tentatively, he asked, “Do you think that will help how you feel about Setlik Three?”

Miles scowled. “No, o’ course not! It’s...” He stood and headed to the sideboard to pour himself a drink after all. “He couldn’t be that sadistic maniac and live here under our noses every day. He couldn’t be with you like he is or get so close to Rom and Leeta. When you do things like...like he and I have done, I guess it never leaves you. You have to work to leave it. Some days it’s easier than others, an’ some days it fools you. You think it’s gone when it’s right there plain to see for anybody with the right perspective. If I don’t help him with this inquest, then I don’t deserve t’ be able to say I’ve changed. If I can’t let him try t’ be a tailor, then what right do I have to say I’m an engineer?”

Now he understood and was reminded yet again why he had grown so close to this man and loved him as dearly as he did. He smiled and stood to join him at the sideboard for another drink. “You’re a very fine engineer,” he said.

His florid cheeks brightened further. “I do all right,” he said with a small grin and a lift of his glass. “Sláinte.”

**Part III**

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

He’d once read a Terran saying that the past was a maze with no escape. He found it to be more of a blind cipher with no key. The harder he searched for meaning in the patterns, the more convinced he became that there was none. It led him to a cliched search for it in the bottom of his kanar bottle and grim amusement at his own expense for falling so far so fast. He’d temporarily disabled his comm and door chime, unwilling to communicate with anyone about anything and deep down dreading an inevitable confrontation with Rom.

A persistent thudding at his door became annoying enough that he said, “Computer, open door.” He felt perversely rebellious in breaking his own ironclad rule about never giving ingress before knowing who was asking it of him.

Leeta took in the dim lighting, his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance, and the strong reek of kanar with little more than a raised eyebrow, immediately stepping across the threshold and walking to his dining table to set down an entire stack of PADDs she’d held in one arm. “Please tell me you’ve been preparing for the inquest,” she said, turning to face him and folding her arms.

He smirked and shook the nearly empty bottle in her direction.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You haven’t. Are you even aware that my government made the decision to stay out of it? That means you won’t have either Nerys or Odo on the panel.”

“One gain, one loss, no effect to the net result,” he said with an indifferent shrug.

Her mouth tightened. “Stop being an idiot. Nerys would have understood. Dax and Worf? I’d tell you to pray to the Prophets if I thought you’d take the advice. Instead, I’ve been studying the process and stored all the relevant information I could find on the PADDs. I didn’t want to have to keep flipping back and forth in the files with you.”

“I’d only have to see it once.” He didn’t budge from his stance near the sideboard nor bother to disguise the arrogance in the claim.

Her eyes narrowed. “I know that. It was for my benefit, not yours, Ass. Come sit. We have a lot of work to do and not much time. You’d know that if you’d been answering your hails. Rom told me the captain was about to pay you a visit, himself. I intervened.”

“No one asked you to do that.” He waved a dismissive hand at the pile. “I’ll look it over later.”

“If I believed that, I’d leave right now. You’re being horrible.”

“I’m behaving exactly as I should to an uninvited visitor,” he countered. 

She cut him off before he could build momentum. “Let’s just get this out of the way. You’ve gotten it into your head that you don’t deserve help, or you don’t need anybody, or you’ve gone soft, or whatever phekk you’ve concocted drinking yourself into a stupor, and you think that if you’re rude enough to me, I’ll lose patience with you and storm out in a huff.

“If this were a social call, I’d march right out, and it would be a very long time before you could crawl your way back into my good graces. It isn’t. I saw what captivity did to you last time. Maybe you’ve decided you don’t care what happens to you now. Well, I do. If you want me gone, throw me out.”

She reminded him so unfavorably of Julian in that moment. He set the bottle aside and stalked toward her. Not even he knew what his answer would be until he came within reach of her and realized he could no more lay a hand on her with violent intentions than he could talk about what he’d been wrestling with ever since awakening in the infirmary. He sagged slightly and saw tension leave her a second afterward.

“I’m glad that’s settled,” she said and gestured to the nearest chair. “Now, sit.”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her he was impressed with the thoroughness of her research or to thank her for her intrusion on his behalf. Whether it was the kanar or the influence of his recent exploration of the man he used to be with such thoughtless arrogance, something sat heavy on his tongue and throttled his better nature.

For her part, she stuck to the business of it, covering what could and couldn’t be discussed in the hearing, that he had a right to counsel if he wanted it—something she recommended—and that if worse came to worst, there was an appeal process, but the deadline for it was a short one. He’d have to be ready to file almost immediately after an unfavorable decision. She reminded him several times that it only took one dissenting voice to drive it to a formal court.

Drunkenness didn’t prevent him from retaining what she told him and showed him on the PADDs. A more reasoned voice in the back of his mind told him it was a good thing she did this for him. Had he walked into the inquest with it in his head just to relate the dry facts of what he’d done, or worse give in to his usual impulse for fabrication, he could have set himself up for a much longer, more complicated process with outsider input. It wasn’t hard to imagine several Starfleeters out there looking for a chance to put a Cardassian in his place, especially one they’d perceive as a murderer of one of their own.

The taut brittleness in her voice told him she was furious with him. She didn’t make eye contact as they spoke. Her gestures were overly emphatic. He took as much of her displeasure as he could stand then reached for her hand at the end of one of the choppy gestures and squeezed gently. She aborted her jerk away and rested her thumb on top of his.

He hated needing this, failing to hold a line, not being stronger, and at the same time hated being someone who didn’t deserve her understanding or friendship, who could never balance out the ledger of his life or the harm he’d done. He felt the least difficulty with his actions on Empok Nor. Even a truly mild-mannered tailor would have morphed into a brutal killer under the influence. It was the aftermath and how parts of him still valued such cold blooded efficiency that had him twisted up inside. He sat frozen and quiet with the warm softness of her thumb tracing a back and forth arc over his knuckle.

“One day I’ll push you too far,” he said finally. Foolish, as though he didn’t understand the power of silence to draw out confession, as though he hadn’t used it a thousand different times in a thousand different circumstances on others.

“I think you want that to be true,” she said. “You believe nothing would make you happier than driving every one of us away, when the truth is nothing would make you more miserable. I know you. You think I don’t?”

“If you truly knew me, you wouldn’t be here.” He could show her how true that was if he didn’t love her as fiercely as he did. How had that happened?

“That’s the kanar talking.” She sandwiched his hand between both of hers. It was the warmest he’d felt in three days. She leaned closer. “Sober up and take a shower. The inquest is tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet you outside the Wardroom. If you want my help in there, I’ll do my best. If you don’t, then I’ll wait outside.”

He hovered in indecision, torn between for once making the first move in a fully honest expression of his affection for her with a forehead press or maintaining propriety. _Coward,_ he thought, straightening, disentangling his hand, and offering one of his polite smiles. “Thank you. I’ll let you know.”

Her perfume lingered for a time after she left, but the warmth of her touch faded much too quickly. He missed Julian. After the inquest, he could discover what it would take to mend their rift. Until then, he had to prepare himself for something more serious than the chief had seemed to think would happen. Somehow, he didn’t believe it had been deliberate deception on his part. It was a novel, uncomfortable thought.

_The Wardroom_

On the surface, it looked far less official than any Cardassian inquest. Captain Sisko, Dax, and Worf sat on one side of a long table with his choice of seats available to him on the other side. He sat across from Dax and rested his hands lightly on the table. 

“We appreciate your punctuality,” Sisko said without preamble. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“I’m at your disposal,” he replied with less of his usual false amiability than he preferred. He decided Leeta’s last minute advice about that was sound. _Let them know you take this seriously. A man is dead. You can’t smarm your way out of that, and you shouldn’t try._ He wasn’t sure that “smarm” was a verb, or even a word for that matter. Her meaning, however, was clear enough.

“Walk us through what happened on the mission,” Dax said. “Be detailed.”

It took a long time. He chose his words carefully but not too carefully. He didn’t want to give the impression of reciting something rehearsed. He showed them some emotion when reaching the difficult parts, just enough to seem sincere. It galled him to have to do it. Anything less, and he feared they might believe he felt nothing at all and come down on him much more harshly for it. He noticed that at various points in his narrative, one or more of them glanced down at the PADDs in front of them and scanned some text before returning their gazes to him. He made a point of addressing each of them, shifting from one face to another neither too quickly nor too slowly. Equal time, he reminded himself, as in this case they each had an equal voice in his fate. When he came to the point of awakening in the infirmary and being informed about the drug, he drew to a close. 

Worf spoke up first. “I want to go back to Nog. If you truly had so little control of yourself, why did you not kill him? We are all aware of your friendship with Nog’s father. It seems convenient that of everyone you harmed, he was the one with the least damage.”

“I wasn’t fully out of control, as I’ve tried to explain. If I were out of control, I would have lashed out at everyone equally and been cut down quickly.” He drew a slow breath to give himself time to parse his phrasing. “My way of thinking was significantly altered. I saw Chief O’Brien as my primary threat. Nog was no threat at all. He was, however, useful bait. Live bait is best when catching a predator.”

“You viewed the chief as a predator?” Sisko spoke up, leaning forward with keen interest.

Garak nodded. “The ‘Hero of Setlik Three?’ And, I might add, no great fan of me or any other Cardassians, as he has made abundantly clear through our years of contact on this station.”

“You consider the chief your enemy?” Dax cut in.

“He’s no friend,” he said simply. “As I’m sure he’d tell you, himself, if you asked him. If you know someone dislikes you, is it such a great leap of logic that if you were in a heightened state of paranoia, you’d consider that person a threat? Particularly if you knew they had experience in defeating your people from a position of great disadvantage?”

“Your people were the aggressors at Setlik Three,” Worf said severely.

Sisko quickly cut in. “Garak isn’t here to answer for wartime activities of the Cardassian Union. Let’s remember our focus. So, Nog was bait. Did you think of Rom at all in making your decision to spare him?”

“I didn’t.” It hurt more than he let on that this was true.

“And now?” Dax prodded. “Have you even tried to talk to Rom since your return?”

“I haven’t.” He met her gaze, concealing his anger at the thrust of the question behind bland innocence.

“What about Crewman Amaro’s widow?” Worf asked.

“No,” he said, shifting his focus to Worf along with the bland expression. “Are we discussing my activities on Empok Nor, or my behavior in my life here on the station?”

“We will ask the questions!” Worf barked.

“Captain Sisko, correct me if I’m wrong, but the scope of this inquest is strictly limited to my activities during the time in question. My official release from Doctor Bashir’s care in the infirmary is the end of said time period. Yes, or no?”

“Yes.” Sisko shot a warning glance at both of his subordinates. “Surely you can understand our concern at whether you feel remorse? It has bearing on the safety of everyone on this station.”

“You assume that the only way to determine whether I feel remorse is whether I present myself to two people who very likely do not want to see me in order to express it in person? If my feelings were the only ones in question, I would have done so the moment I left the infirmary. It was precisely out of respect and concern for them that I didn’t.” It satisfied him to see Worf glance away and Dax look a little uncomfortable.

“Surprising for a Cardassian?” It was acerbic even for him. It wouldn’t do to appear too cowed. He never had in the past when faced with accusations.

Sisko spread both hands and made a downward calming gesture toward the tabletop. “No one is making race based assumptions, Garak. All we want is for you to have a fair chance to present your side of what happened. I believe we’ve achieved that. We’ll take an hour recess to go over all of the testimonies and call you in for our decision.”

He nodded and stood, leaving the chamber with dignity and seemingly effortless grace. Sisko was wrong. He was _always_ judged by his race on this station, whether he behaved according to traditional Cardassian mores or not, and it was wearing microfiber thin. He exited not to the expected sight of Leeta, but to Rom. _Now the true inquest begins,_ he thought, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

“How did it go?” Rom asked with a glance over Garak’s shoulder toward the closed door.

He shook his head. “Hard to say. I believe they have their doubts about the prudence of allowing me free range.” It was ironic in a way. For so long he wanted to be taken seriously. Now that he was, it was for all the wrong reasons.

“Should they?” It was a side of his friend he hadn’t seen before, dead calm and grim, standing squared to him and completely uncowed by the height difference.

“No. The circumstances which would have set us at odds are a thing of the past.” They’d died the moment Dukat allied Cardassia with the Dominion. “Do you have doubts?” He hated asking questions when he already knew the answer. It was inefficient, but Rom needed to express himself and was unlikely to do it without prodding.

“I doubt my son is sleeping much. I hate this!” He blurted suddenly. “I’m not supposed to be mad at you. I understand why. I agree with it, but Nog isn’t the person he was who left on that mission. Should I be thanking you he’s not dead?” 

“Yes.” The lie came so much easier than the truth, wedged somewhere beneath his desire to break something at being in this position at all. “Underneath it all, there was something in the back of my mind that told me I couldn’t do it.”

Apparently, it was the right answer. Rom nodded swiftly, his lips pressed together over the protrusion of his teeth. “I knew it. The doctor said the same thing, that you’d never hurt me or my family. Maybe Brother, but only if he deserved it.” He lurched forward and wrapped his arms around him before he could react. 

He jerked to disentangle himself, suddenly feeling more claustrophobic than in the prison alcove of the asteroid. “Don’t!”

The Ferengi immediately released him and stepped back. “Sorry. I’m just so glad this is behind us. I don’t like being upset with my friends. It’ll...it’ll be a while before everything is fully OK. I hope it’s OK with you if we don’t see each other for a while. I need time.”

“Quite all right,” he said, controlling his voice with difficulty. He hadn’t expected his lie to backfire on him so spectacularly so fast. Every forgiving word and affectionate gesture made him want to flee. “I completely understand.”

_Julian  
Private Quarters_

The pneumatic hiss of the door drew him out of his light nap in his chair. He straightened in time to see Garak step in with more uncertainty in his gait than he’d expect him to reveal unless he intended him to see it. In no mood for a performance, he nodded a cool greeting. “Congratulations on being cleared,” he said. “I was relieved to hear it.”

“Leeta’s help was invaluable,” he said.

It annoyed Julian that he made no further move into the room. He hated talking with one person seated and the other standing and didn’t feel like being the one to correct the imbalance. “Are you back, then, or did you just come to tell me about the inquest?”

“You’re angry.” He still hovered there in front of the door like someone with one foot out.

“Don’t act like it’s a surprise. I told you in the infirmary how I felt about your shutting me out. It was clear to me nothing I said short of locking you up in medical quarantine was going to change your mind.” He gestured at the sofa. “Are you going to sit so we can have a proper talk or stand there and hope to prey on my empathy with an offensively transparent ploy?”

Something flickered in Garak’s gaze that had him second guessing his read of the situation. _No, that’s exactly what he wants you to do. This time you’re not going to be the one to capitulate._ He watched him start forward and take the seat. He knew it. There was the bland mask he’d come to expect when he was supposed to forgive him whether he’d earned it or not. “It’s gratifying that you have your eyes open,” Garak said.

“I don’t care whether you approve of my mistrust or not. I want to give you leeway based on the circumstances, yet every time I’ve done that, it has come back to bite me in the end. You’ve said repeatedly that in the eyes of your people, what we have together is a fling. Is that some roundabout way of saying it’s how you see it?” He sat up fully to nudge the ottoman aside so that he could lean toward him and face him better.

“No.” Again, he met him with the bland mask and nothing but hooded wariness in his eyes.

He’d expected something more loquacious or perhaps a counter-thrust. Garak rarely answered anything so succinctly. “Then how? We’re less than official courting partners but more than a fling. How do you see that working? What’s yours is mine until it isn’t?”

“How much dating do you think I’ve done, Julian?” he asked, brow ridges lifting. “Considering ‘dating’ wasn’t even a concept I’d encountered until many years after my first foray away from Prime, I’m astounded we’ve come this far. You can doubt me all you like, and I’d deserve it. In this case, I don’t know what else to say to you.”

“You always know what to say.” He felt his anger giving way to unease. This way of arguing was new, no sarcasm, no pointed barbs, no aggressive posturing. “When you aren’t sure, you just make something up, and when I accept it, you chide me for my naivete or smugly get your way.”

He met the accusation with silence. 

The longer he sat there, the worse Julian felt about his response to him. What happened on the abandoned station was execrable by all accounts, certainly by what he’d gleaned from the autopsies and Garak’s wounds. Garak had needed space, and while his handling of that had been less than ideal, did he deserve this berating? He felt the rest of his anger deflating like a chilled balloon. “We need to find middle ground between your needing space and your completely shutting me out. I feel like I’m constantly compromising to accommodate your nature but rarely if ever given the same consideration.”

“I see.” He nodded faintly, his look distant and contemplative. “So you would prefer me to make it known whenever I feel compromised, so that you have more of a sense of balance in how we make each other miserable.”

He blinked at him in shock, the anger back full force. “That’s your takeaway from everything I just said? You’re unbelievable! You know what? Yes. Yes, I’d prefer for you to show when I get under your skin or say or do something that makes you feel less than just for being what you are. How many times have you spoken of my humanity with derision? With condescension? When I express needs or emotional responses, I’m ridiculous or sentimental. When I don’t want to be locked out of our quarters, I’m what? Unreasonable? Expecting too much?”

“You expect too much of me and not enough for yourself!” Garak was off the couch in an explosive move that sent him stalking toward the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” He followed hot on his heels. “This is exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. You get it in your head to do something, and not even an inertial dampener will stop you. Elim Garak, don’t you touch that drawer!”

The tailor paused with his hand half extended, his startled look giving way to amusement he tried to hide without succeeding. “An inertial dampener may not stop me, but a mother’s tone?” He dropped his hand down by his side and backed to a seat on the end of the bed. The amusement was short lived.

It was enough to allow Julian to come take a seat beside him. “What do you feel is too much?” he asked. He had to take advantage of the few times he could get Garak to say what he meant unfiltered. They tended to make their best progress in those moments.

“I never expected to have the luxury of a long-term relationship. I was trained for many things. This wasn’t one of them. I’ve always had my space, never lived with a lover. It works when I’m...” He paused, his frustration at being unable to finish the thought apparent.

“When you’re not overwhelmed?” Julian asked, shifting his hand so that just the outer edges of their pinkies brushed.

He nodded and glanced at him sideways.

“All right,” he said softly. “Now the other half of that statement. How am I not expecting enough for myself?”

To his surprise, Garak closed his hand over his fingers. “You didn’t see your face when you talked about them, those descendants of yours.”

_You bloody idiot._ Everything fell into place, Garak’s weird energy lately, well before his trip to Empok Nor, his defensiveness about the Cardassian courting rituals, why it seemed like he was pulling away. He turned his hand under his grip and squeezed. “Listen to me. If I ever get to the point I feel like I need that in my life, I’ll be honest with you. But, Elim, that’s a big if. I... You see how busy I am. It’s by choice. 

“It works with us because you’re so independent and have your own pursuits. A child would change everything in ways I’m not sure I’d ever want. I have trouble dealing with Miles’ kids, and they aren’t even mine. What I did when I was stranded on a planet with no hope of ever escaping has no bearing on what I want here and now.” He willed him to use that uncanny ability of his to read him accurately, to see the truth in what he said.

“I know you believe that.” Garak squeezed his hand a final time and released it.

It wasn’t the response he wanted. He realized it was the only response he could expect right now. “I hope in time you’ll believe it, too.” 

Rather than continuing in that vein, Garak changed the subject. “I need to be able to retreat fully sometimes. I need space that’s wholly mine. I thought I was past that. I’m not.”

He nodded. It didn’t gut him the way such an announcement would have in the past. Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of their relationship, or maybe he sensed that Garak was being as honest with him as he knew how. If only he didn’t always feel as though he saw just the crowns of their issues and not the deep, hidden roots. “These quarters are as much yours as mine. If you need to keep me out of yours...”

“Not all the time,” he corrected. “And not for frivolous or spiteful reasons, however hard that might be to believe.”

“I’ll agree to that, if you agree to communicate better with me when you get in that head space. I’m not asking for state secrets. I need to know what to expect and if I should be worried about you. That’s all.” Unreasonable expectation by Cardassian standards or not, he was no longer willing to compromise when it came to this. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, some light coming back into his eyes that had Julian hopeful they’d made some true headway.

“Aren’t you the one who always says nothing worth having is easy?”

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

Julian was asleep when he heard the faint chirp from the comm in the sitting room. He rolled stealthily out of bed and padded to it in sock clad feet. It was late for Sisko to be up, he thought, accepting the offered download to a data rod, encrypted as he’d instructed. Sliding his finger over the cool tip of it, he felt some guilt at how pleased he was to have the information. It proved more costly than he’d anticipated. He had done far worse things in the past for valuable intelligence, hadn’t he? He reached for the old detachment and found it imperfectly. He could live with that.

Julian’s voice called from the bedroom. “Did I hear the comm? Is it something important?”

“Disappointing news from the captain. I won’t be able to get the bigger workshop space after all. Given everything that happened, I’m not inclined to argue with him. I’m lucky I still have my freedom.” He muted the system sound.

“I’m sorry that didn’t work out. Are you coming back to bed?”

“Soon. I’d like to get in a little light reading. Now that I’m awake, I can’t get back to sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” He listened for any further talk or movement from Julian before having the computer shut the bedroom door and decrypting the file.

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with the aftermath of “Children of Time,” skips entirely over the Eddington episode “Blaze of Glory,” and sandwiches “Empok Nor.” Due to the pacing of that episode, I felt like any intrusion directly into its territory would constitute an annoying retread of something already extremely tightly written. I was always more interested in the consequences we never saw than the specifics of Garak on a drugged murder spree, anyway.


End file.
